


To Pray For Rain

by UNIVERSACE



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Adopted Children, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Video Game World, Childhood Friends, De-Aged BadBoyHalo, De-Aged GeorgeNotFound, De-Aged Sapnap, De-Aged Skeppy, De-Aged a6d, Gen, IRL Minecraft, Minecraft Mobs - Freeform, No beta i die like Wilbur in the DreamSMP, Parent-Child Relationship, Sleepyboisinc - Freeform, Survival Horror, Technoblade bullies orphans, The Nether (Minecraft), The Trio - Freeform, dream blobs, dream team, will update tags as the story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:15:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25515634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UNIVERSACE/pseuds/UNIVERSACE
Summary: For many years, the hunters have guarded numerous strongholds and fortresses to keep a horrifying monster that devours all from reaching the End to harvest the Dragon's powers to become omnipotent and rule the world with anarchy and destruction until everything ceases to exist. With the new generation of hunters preparing to carry on the task of hunting down the nefarious Sandman's Plight, the resurgence about its truths become unearthed as well.
Comments: 15
Kudos: 78





	1. flowers; lonely | opposition

“George, hurry up!”

Nick groans in agony as he tries to keep the bundle of sticks together with his arms but fails. “Ugh! This is all your fault. If we’d just gone back after we gathered the first batch of sticks then maybe we wouldn’t be having such a darn hard time going back to the village!”

“Language, Nick!” shushes the older boy at his friend. “You know how upset Bad gets when we say bad words.” To a point, George can understand his friend’s complaints—it is only a matter of hours before nightfall—but with winter closing in, more sticks mean more heat in shivering cold temperatures.

“Oh, to _heck_ with Bad’s bad words!” exclaims Nick. “I’m _dying_ , George. I’m gonna die in the middle of the forest and it’s all because of these!” He dramatically drops the sticks on his hands to the earth and did the same to himself, whining.

“Will you shut it, Nick? And you’re not dying in the middle of the forest, we’re just some steps away before we arrive at the village so if I were you, I’d get a move on _then_ drop myself at the bed after cleaning up!” George kicks Nick before proceeding to stomp forward to the village, already annoyed at how foolish he was getting, more so to drop dead on the grass. It isn’t like he’s also not tired at all.

With the lack of two audible dragging of feet behind his back, George turns back to see that Nick hasn’t moved at all and is, possibly, resting on the dirt road. George is typically unamused by this, considering Nick had done this many, many times before when he doesn’t get his way, but God forbid he leave him here like last time; one earful from Bad and an elder is enough and he isn’t about to cause the group any squad and the adults again. With the fatigue setting in and his legs nearly giving in, George mutters, “God fucking damn it, Nick,” before walking back to his fallen friend.

He kneels to the floor and stretches his hand out. “Nick, give me your headband.”

This elicits a “what” from the younger boy but gives the white head band on his forehead anyway. George begins to tie the sticks Nick gathered in one big bunch for him to carry and when he’s done, George weighs his bunch to Nick and, since Nick’s is heavier, George gives his bunch to him. “Carry that one instead and I’ll return your headband when we’re home.”

George helps Nick get back on his own two feet and secures the bunch to his back while he carries his own above his head. Together, they make their way towards the village with their sore feet and arms with skies deepening in color as seconds pass.

Arriving at the village, they’re greeted with the sight of wounded adults being treated by the nurses and served with heaps upon heaps of meat, bread, and wine—usually a bad sign. Dinner began moments ago and the two of them aren’t sitting beside their friends on the dining hall, reciting an offer of gratitude to the deity of harvest, and preparing to eat.

“Oh, George, we’re so dead.” Nick whispers. “Bad’s gonna kill us for real this time.”

George lowers the bundle of sticks on his head. “If you keep quiet and not cause attention then I can assure you that we can get back before anyone notices we were actually in the dining hall all along.”

The two boys sneak to a nearby corridor, a shortcut, to drop off George’s bigger bunch of sticks to the nearby Storage Room for the whole guild. At this time, no one is really out in the halls to supervise—the watchmen aren’t really interested in the shenanigans of sneaking kids—which makes it easier for the two kids to reach it. Once there, Nick serves as lookout for any elders, adults, or squad leaders while George clumsily stacked the sticks on the chest it is supposed to be in and returned the white headband to his friend.

The real challenge is figuring out how to enter the dining hall in the Children’s Quarters without getting caught. George and Nick sneak their way in to the heavy, wooden doors and move in the shadows of the corridors. Nick once heard of a secret passage from below the dining hall from Vincent but he cannot exactly trust most of his words, not after he spent five days in the hospital wing after eating a spider’s eye, believing that it can make him climb walls.

After a moment of uneasiness, Nick exhales sharply and, with the confidence of a mad man, says, “Y’know, George, I think we should just head straight in.”

“And what? Look like proud fools when we enter the dining hall, waving to the elders, saying ‘Hello! Thank you for tolerating our asses for disregarding yesterday’s lecture about punctuality _and_ responsibility! Carry on with your meals!’ when we know that Bad’s already in so much trouble because of the trouble we’re causing today?” George keeps on thinking for more ways to apologize to Bad than actually going to the dining hall because he can care less about his hunger at this point.

“Look, it’s going to be much better to get ass-whooped and eat mashed potatoes and mutton than steal bread in the canteen in the middle of the night and leave the crumbs as traces for robbing so, George, please”—Nick stretches out his right hand to the older boy—“let’s march in.”

“But what about Bad?”

The doors of the dining hall forcefully open, revealing the silhouette of a black, hooded man with a bow on his torso. Everyone within the dining area stopped eating to see the two boys, wide eyed, staring in fear of Bad. From the far end of the room, the elders stand up with dismay on their faces, but their reaction is not what matters to George right now. Despite his white eyes, the two can fully see the disappointment from their squad leader. “You muffinheads are in so much trouble.”

Bad grabs George and Nick by their shoulders and ushers them inside the hall. “Here they are, sir. George and Nick are… in one piece.”

The stares that the elders give brought chagrin to George and Bad. However, Nick, very much caught up on the sense of idiotic bravery he’s planning to ride out until midnight, has very different plans towards where the evening events are going to head.

Nick removed the bunch of sticks from his back and proudly raises them in front of everyone. “We brought more sticks!”

An unbelievably pale white George and Nick sit on their wooden stools while an elder discusses to them how shameful the act that Nick did was in a raised voice while Bad stands behind them with his arms crossed and his back against the cool stone bricks.

“Tell me, Nick, are you not ashamed of what you did?” asks the elder. “You present this—this _thing_ as if it is something to be proud of!”

“It’s not just _a_ thing, it’s a bunch of sticks.”

George quietly prays to someone, anyone, that the whole fiasco be over soon.

“And what about you, George? What happened to your oath, or are you taking this as a joke?”

“It’s not his fault,” interjects Nick. “He is responsible and he made sure that—”

“Do not speak when not spoken to!” the elder slams his fist on the table. “Nick, where have your manners gone?”

Nick sighs. His hunger is already getting the best of him and he can definitely feel a yawn about to come which will be much more devastating if the lecture doesn’t end soon. “Grand elder, I just cannot understand how you think lecturing us on an empty stomach will be of any help.” The three pairs of eyes fly to him as he said his words and, to be fair, for a six-year old, his tone was quite rude. “George fulfilled his end of the oath and has sworn to be responsible of me, and he did!”

“The reason why we were so late was because… George had to carry me and the sticks back to the village because I was tired of gathering sticks.”

George tries not to widen his eyes. It was a dead, obvious lie that he can hardly believe it but for Nick to take the fall, just this once, lifts a burden from his shoulders. If the elder could just buy it, they’d be out here in no time.

The elder grunts. “You gave up on your duties as a future hunter once again, young boy. What is a hunter without stamina and strength?”

The elder proceeds to lecture them for a short while before dismissing them and Bad was nonetheless impressed at how Nick managed to not get slapped with a ruler on his palms and his face, and comforts the teary-eyed George with a hug.

“That was the worst lie I’ve ever heard in my whole life. You’re telling the elder that a scrawny boy like George can carry a boulder like you _and_ the sticks?”

“Well, Bad, the elder seems to have bought it! His lecture was some thirty minutes shorter than yesterday!” The retort Nick made earned him a slap to the head. “Still, I was a little hurt when he called our sticks just _a_ thing. George nearly killed me for it, y’know.”

“You see, Nick, if _you_ took responsibility for every task that you do, whether you like them or not, we wouldn’t have a George planning out your funeral.”

“Rude.”

After George regains his composure and his eyes aren’t as puffy as before, Bad leads the two downstairs to the almost empty dining hall. “Unluckily for you muffinheads, the two of you are on cleaning duty so, after you eat, make sure to help me wash the dishes.”

“Oh, come on!” Nick exclaims.

“Nick, we broke the rules. We’d definitely get punished for it,” George sits down on the bench where two covered plates were placed. “It’s a lot better than getting our asses kicked.”

“What were those dumbasses—”

“Language, Nick.” Bad interjects. The younger boy bites his tongue.

“What were… those _people_ thinking… when they decided that making two tired boys wash a buttload of dishes was an appropriate punishment?” Nick retorts, side-eying Bad upon changing his words to be ‘appropriate’.

“Okay, I literally just said a while ago to take responsibility for your actions.”

“But Bad, why?! Why even do these things? Punishments are for bad people who do bad things! Is what we did inherently bad that it can almost kill the entire group?”

“Yes.” Bad deadpans. “Thirty minutes after the two of you were still M-I-A, one of the elders suggested to deploy a squad for a search party in case you might have encountered the Sandman’s Plight which would have been dangerous and deadly.” The mention of such made the two boys quiet on their place. “It’s not to say that what you did, gathering bunches of sticks for the winter, is bad, but the cost of your actions, your unpunctuality, could mean that a hunter can leave clad in armor but come back as a corpse.”

“Until you muffinheads can protect yourselves and know how to handle an iron sword, abide by the rules as much as possible, and you’ll live. Now eat.”

The two boys silently eat in front of their squad leader, that was until Bad left and came back with more servings of mashed potatoes for the two boys. They’d be washing some hundred wooden bowls in the kitchen area later and Bad might as well make sure the boys can last.

“Ah! There you are!” A familiar voice calls. It is Skeppy, happily walking up to the three, with a tearful Vincent beside him holding a basket of bread. “Apparently, Vincent’s afraid of the dark!”

“You placed him in the dark?!” Bad shouts, taking Vincent in a warm hug while looking at his friend in disbelief.

“Vincent wanted the bread.”

“In exchange for bread?!”

Skeppy and Bad always seems to be bickering and their conversation, surely enough, derails from Vincent to another topic unrelated to the then crying child. As for him, Vincent sits beside Nick on the bench.

“Hey, Nick; hey, George.” Vincent greets and places the basket of loaves of bread on the table. He earns a greeting from the two. “Where’ve you guys been? I was about to sneak out and get you two but you guys arrived.”

“Oh, we were just in the forest picking up sticks.” Nick replies. The mention of sticks suddenly prompts Skeppy to the conversation.

“Ah, yes! The sticks that you brought, Nick,” interjects Skeppy, “it’s really gonna save our winter, you know. So how about I—”

“Oh no, you won’t! You’re not going to be doing anything to my squad, Skeppy, not on my watch!”

The two squad leaders continue on with their bickering, and the three are left to their own.

“Anything remarkable happened while we were away?” asks George.

“Yeah, Dave said that you guys might have met the Sandman’s Plight and became one of its minions after it ate you.” Vincent sighs. “It wasn’t that good of a joke; we all know what happens when the Sandman’s Plight comes around and attacks.”

“Of course, it’s Dave. That prick always wants to get under my skin for some reason. And he is.” Nick stuffs a spoonful of mashed potatoes in his mouth. “Hey, Vincent, can I have a piece of bread?”

“Sure.”

George places his spoon down and asked Vincent for a piece of bread as well. “Anything else that’s remarkable?”

“Not really much. Although, I did hear from the other Hunting Squad members that they might take Dave and Kye in as members, too.” Vincent sighs. “Can you believe that? A Hunting squad member at age ten? They’ll be the youngest children to be accepted.”

“Not that surprising when every after lunch we see Dave taking out offense on Kye.” George said.

“Or on Will.”

“Or on Phil.”

“Or on Tommy.”

Not much was said after that and the two boys, after finishing their meals, heads straight to the kitchen with Bad, Skeppy, and Vincent trailing behind them and willing to help. At half past 11, Nick finally finishes wiping down the last bowl, George with the last spoon, and Bad rearranging them to their respective cabinets, the five of them went upstairs and the two squad leaders tucks the children to their beds.

With the children fast asleep, Bad and Skeppy exit the room to prepare for yet another tiring night shift they’ll be working.

A cloaked figure stumbled to the snowy ground and coughed up blood. A poisoned arrow remained on its left shoulder and it winced every time it moved. As much as it wants to, it cannot rest now; not now when there are strays charging and aiming their bows as him, not now when the undead limp towards its direction with wanton desire of its flesh, not now when a group of armed men riding their steeds, accompanied by a pack of wolves, are itching to kill _it_ —the Ghoul, the Demon, the _Sandman’s Plight_.

Small, sentient creatures emerged from its leather satchel, shivering from the cold and in fear. It hated to see them in this much distress, it hated that it cannot protect them and has, for the first time since it last saw the world, failed miserably to keep almost all of them alive. Only six of them remain now.

It could not feel itself regenerate and the poison seeping through its body was not helping in anyway. To take the arrow out would be much more deadly and to treat the wound in that moment would be foolish. If it could just make some leeway between him, the mobs, and the hunters, perhaps it could live and see another day. Until then, with the creatures beside it and unable to provide them, it made a quick decision to live.

It shoves two of the sentient creatures back to its satchel and the remaining four to the snowed earth. Confused, the creatures tried to climb back in with its companions but the freezing temperatures made their bodies stiff and unable to move, and caused more pain than comfort. In one swift move, it took its companions by their torsos and bit their heads off clean.

“Kill it!” bellowed a man, pointing its sword of diamond at the northwest direction. “Make sure to bring its young alive!”

With its health regenerating, it could think clearly again. It knew of this snowy path; it had been chased here by the same men many, many years ago, just right after it was introduced to the world. It buried a portal somewhere north, to the desert, in a lake of lava where, to this day, it hopes, remains active.

The cloaked figure ran, and it ran fast; quick enough before the wolves could catch up to it. With another split-second decision, it made a screeching halt and pulled out a diamond sword, then lunged straight for the hunters. It maimed a horse and stabbed a wolf; it tried to make all of them get off their high horses to fight an equal battle despite being undoubtedly outnumbered, and with all of the hunters’ bloodthirsty hounds dead, the hunters took the hint and eyed their leader.

All men, except one, aimed their crossbows at the scheming creature while their leader clad in diamond armor dismounted his horse and slowly walked towards it. “Stop, you demon,” said the man, “your years of terrorizing our community and others have gone for far too long! Surrender now and we may possibly spare your life or run away once again and perish like the men you’ve killed.”

It remained silent.

“You must be low; you must be. That arrow’s head was dipped in one of the most potent poisons we have crafted. Your life is slipping away as I speak before you.” The man grabbed something from his pockets and in his fingers was a small vial of a clear essence. “But even then, we can save you.”

“Surrender yourself now, demon, there is no other place you—”

An unprecedented arrow shot by the Stray landed on this unfortunate man and in that small chance of diversion, the demon was gone.

It booked the whole war and ran, but it was running away from them empty-handed and it could not guarantee that it would survive on its own in the world it was about to go to next. Then it stopped suddenly, feet sinking to the sand; there’s a pig nearby, and it has a lighter and a sword that can cut through it well, not to mention that the distance between it and the hunters was large enough.

What the hunters did not see next while tending to their leader was the return of the cloaked demon with its sword to its right, ready to swing, but the blade was not at all meant for the tending hunters.

It had only been described in myths what the Sandman’s Plight can do, and its abilities were not fully discovered as most of those who swore to come back to tell the tale never did; and so it put the hunters in such a state of shock as they saw the demon run head first to one of their horses, only to unhinge its jaw and stretch its skin to engulf the animal wholly. They saw the animal struggle inside, and they heard its bones crack that it contorted to a size no longer its own and, in one final snap, got ingested.

Suddenly, the body of the demon twisted and contorted, bones snapping then reforming, until it became that of a caricature of the animal it had eaten but almost unrecognizable. Upon taking its first breath, the world had seemingly stilled and the sky was almost too dark that not even the stars dared to shine.

Pale white skin, soulless eyes; there was a distinguished thin line where a horse’s mouth was meant to be, and as the horse-like creature gazed upon the hunters’ direction, it cracked an unnerving smile and bared its sharp teeth that glistened like jewels under the new moon.

Its hooves left a trail of blood until it reached the desert where it dug a portion of the sand just above the lava lake where it made his sole entrance to hell. The portal was a lot different than wherein it showed signs of decay creeping in with the vast number of netherrack seeping through the lava. It jumped down to the platform where its portal sits and was brought to a different world as it stepped in.

From the breathable air of the overworld, the steam that fills its lungs almost suffocated the demon. From the satchel, it retrieved one of its smaller counterparts and ate it, reverting back to its small, cloaked form and regurgitating the saddle, iron armor, poisoned arrow, and diamond sword it had. In its satchel remained its sole companion, now crying once again as it is all left alone.

In the place it could call its second home, the demon strolled in the blazing, barren wastelands of the Nether, unharmed by the passive zombified piglins scouting the area, save for the occasional blasts from wandering ghasts, in search of the nearby fortress it had raided a long time ago. Despite the unbearably scorching temperatures keeping its morale low, it hoped that some of the things it deemed useless years ago remained there, and that its cauldron remained untouched.

The demon walked and walked until the remains of cobblestone and dirt led it to the towering fortress. With the lack of blocks to scale, it dug up enough netherrack and proceeded to tower up until it reached the entrance; more remnants of cobblestone and dirt fill the area.

From its right, it heard the clanking and jostling bones, and, to no surprise, three Wither skeletons armed with their swords appeared and approached the intruder. While the cloaked figure could easily take them on, dealing damage would prove unnecessary. It went and ran to the opposite direction, opening chests it found along the way, only to be vehemently disappointed that every chest was looted and the soul sand gardens were left unmaintained. While it was very much a pain in the ass, to linger around a fortress with creeping hostile mobs and no loot is a foolish decision, it set out for a new destination—somewhere better but safe—and opted to whichever forest it might encounter on the way.

The demon removed its cloak and the blob that sat in its satchel demanded to be let out of its leather-made prison as it walked toward the sea of lava. Striders of different sizes strolled around and the saddle that it had stolen from earlier can finally be used. One stray strider that went too close to the surface was then forcibly pulled to land and saddled by the demon. In that moment, it already planned to go and venture until it felt an excruciating pain from its left arm and saw the creature looking at the demon in contempt and malice. The message was as clear as day to it: It does not want to go and boil to death.

But the demon had other plans and yanked the small creature by its torso, making its own arm bleed, and brought it near its face. There was nothing that they could have done; even if they had a plentiful amount of sticks, because they had no strings to make a fishing rod, no planks to make a crafting table, and no mushrooms that grew, the only sensible choice was to navigate the sea of lava in a more _efficient_ way.

The smaller creature protested and tried to wiggle free from its guardian but its attempt to escape was for nothing; it was shoved right back in to the satchel where it remained and the demon made sure to zip it shut. With its mercy, it tied the satchel around its head rather than to let it hang just below its hips. With no one to argue, it continued its voyage across the boiling sea of lava.

At the back of its mind, it did acknowledge that their sailing might end in an ill-fated manner. The boiling heat of the lava seemed to cling to its skin, burning, boiling, possibly even cooking from the inside out. It struggled to remain focused as it breathed the hot exhaust from below. The lack of hindsight in its part had cost the demon some of its progress to reach the one True End but this just might be the one true setback that sets apart life and death.

When its vision became hazy and it felt itself slipping from the reality, the demon was lucky enough to find a nearby wall of netherrack and dug until there was a hole that it could rest in. The demon dropped its body to the floor and took a moment to breathe just before it fell in a deep slumber. The strider stared mindlessly at the collapsed figure inside the dreary hole but drew its eyes to something that moved from within a bag. Revealing itself, the smaller creature stared cautiously at the strider, having never seen it up close until recently, before moving closer to its guardian and snuggled itself right where its chest is, and rested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you guys enjoyed :> next chapter might get posted the following sunday or the days after that but updates might get irregular after ch2 bc of school so feel free to leave a comment and kudos!
> 
> also, i wanna have more twt moots so, if ever, follow me (@UNlVERSACE) the uppercase i is just a lowercase L bc some bot by the name of sindy ortiz wanted to exist in 2015 and left without deactivating sooooo :////
> 
> ok thats all!


	2. are you lost | closer

A few weeks pass and winter announces itself in the common room of the Children’s Quarters with a heap of snow that fell from the open skylight. Cheers are heard from below and the children takes it upon themselves to organize a snowball fight with what little they have. The commotion from below is taken note of those from the first floor where the squad leaders rest, but make no attempt to disrupt the fun the kids are having and, instead, watch over them, in case anyone gets hurt, and smile. After all, it’s winter.

Winter means that sword-fighting classes will be postponed and a month-long break is to take place. Today is their third day and, after the snowball fight, George and Nick find themselves trying to draw scribbles on the thin sheet of snow on the dirt, already bored out of their lives.

“Why can’t we go out, George?” Nick blows a raspberry and sits down.

“Nick, that’s the fifth time I’ve heard that question,” replies George, still busy scribbling, “and the most annoying part is that you asked four different people before me for an answer.”

“Well, yeah, maybe there’s a different reason why we can’t go out, y’know. You’d never really know.” Nick then lies down and stretched his limbs to look up at the hazy sky in peace. For a moment, he thinks he understands the world.

“We can’t go out because it’s snowing already and it’d be a bother to open the gates.”

The sound of chirping birds nestling in trees, of distant laughter from open windows, of scraping snow against a stick; ambient silence filled their conversation. Nick does not think much about it but just when he was about to open his mouth, he is cut off by a nonchalant George. “No, we are not sneaking out.” The younger boy expresses his disapproval with a guttural groan and a heavy thud to the floor.

“Who’s sneaking out?”

The two boys dart their eyes to the left and see a group of three, marching proudly towards their direction. It is Dave, accompanied by Will and Phil, wearing his crown of wheat and dried poppy and his tackily sewn leather tunic. He confidently strides with his stone sword tucked away in his leather scabbard. He flashes them a smirk, “You do know that you shouldn’t sneak out, do you now, Georgie?”

“I do _know_ so, Dave; and didn’t Bad ever say that it’s rude to eavesdrop?” George looks at the boy cautiously and tightly grips his stick. He trusts that Dave won’t do any foolish thing but the stone sword just below his hips doesn’t make him too happy.

“It’s not eavesdropping, Georgie,” moans Dave, “I’m _patrolling_ ; haven’t you heard? Next spring, me and Kye are gonna get _promoted_ in to the hunting squad.” He flings his head back to readjust his crown and crosses his arms. “I’m gonna be in charge.”

Nick scoffs and stands up from where he lay. “Please, you’re a hunter-in-training, at best, but you’re not gonna ‘in charge’. You aren’t even in the same league as Bad, or Skeppy, or any of the other hunting squad members who’re leading their own training groups.”

Dave mirthlessly laughs and glares at the younger boy, and stands in front of him, menacingly. At the end of his boisterous laughter, he grabs a handful of the younger boy’s hair. “Listen up because I’m only gonna say it once: I’m gonna be marching these halls left and right making sure that nerds like you get punished for breaking rules.”

“Get your hands off him, you pig!” shouts George as he lunges at Dave and repeatedly lands blows on his arms and legs.

Phil, Will, and Nick stand back to see George rough Dave up, but when Dave takes it upon himself to change the tides and George is suddenly on the receiving end of the beatings, Phil and Nick hurry to their friends as Will tries to put the brawl to an end. The two succeed at prying George and Dave off each other, but not without scratches and bruises to back up.

Dave, still angered, manages to break free from Phil’s grasps and grabs George by the collars of his shirt. “Listen up, nerd,” he heaves, “you’re nothing compared to what I’ve done in the past few years I’ve lived, and you’re just riding on the coattails of mercy that the guild gifted to you,” Dave shoves George, making him and Nick fall down. “If I were you,”—he unsheathes his stone sword from his scabbard and points its tip on George’s cheek—“I wouldn’t talk back to my leaders if someone went out of line.” He swiftly swings his sword to dramatically return it to its scabbard. Dave straightens his tunic and fixes his crown before giving one last look to the boys then left with Phil, feeling accomplished himself.

George stares down to the floor feeling hot rage burning in him; his fists are tightly clenched and his knuckles akin to the color of snow, and when he sees a dark crimson liquid drip down, he punches the earth beneath him in annoyance and repeatedly hit the earth until he stained the snow with his own blood.

George hears the snow crunch with the weight of walking circle him, helping Nick behind him get on his feet and, finally, to him. George looks up and sees Will, and he extends his handkerchief to George. They don’t exchange words and George can only hang his head in shame. To someone who he befriended before Dave took him all to himself, George is embarrassed that Will had to see him like this.

“I can’t exactly apologize on his behalf, but I think remaining there, all hunched over the snow, is just going to make you look more pitiful.” Will says, tucking away his handkerchief to the pockets of his leggings. “I don’t want that.”

“Well, maybe you can go tell Dave he shouldn’t talk down on us like this just because he’s stronger than I will ever be. You’re close to him, aren’t you? Why don’t you go and tell him that?” George chokes on his words as he tries to swallow down his emotions with his throat tied to a knot and warm tears, as much as he tried to not show them, adamantly fall to his cheeks and he looks away to Nick, signaling him to help him up.

“I can’t talk to him to that extent, sorry. Dave—er, well—Techno, is a stubborn kid; no changing his mind until he himself arrives to that conclusion.” Will shakes his head, as if remembering something, but refused to discuss it further. With good intentions on his part, he grabs a handful of snow, compressed it together, and grabs George’s injured hands. “You should get these treated, otherwise there’ll be scars on your hands.”

“Doesn’t really matter considering we use swords and axes on a day to day basis.” Nick remarks. “We’ll have the cool scars one way or another.”

“Hmm, fair enough.”

“Why are you even still here, aren’t you supposed to be with them?”

“Oh, well, you see,” Will drops George’s hands to grab something from his pockets, and from the pocket is a folded piece of paper, “I know it’s not the right time, considering what just happened but, here. It’s from Tommy.”

The paper is crisp, its grooves on the paper are so deep that George is having a hard time believing whether Thomas has engraved his supposed grievances to the paper itself or simply he destroyed a pencil over the letter he took time on. George opens it, expecting to see a bad word or two, since he looks up to Dave _that_ much, only to see that there was none. The handwriting in itself is intentionally made to look shabby and illegible and a brown crayon’s tip might be crushed somewhere in the Play Room. In all capital letters, Tommy wrote: I hate you but Nick is my best friend.

“Oh, look, Nick, Tommy enjoys your company,” deadpans George.

“I don’t.”

George did not go to the hospital wing and stayed in his room for the remainder of the day, tending his wounds. His bandages are clean and precisely put, having patch up those younger than him one to many times, and tidied their shared room.

He sits down on Vincent’s bed and stares out to the window adjacent to it and sees the evergreen forest behind the walls of the whole group. There are mountains that fade away in the distance and George can only wish to see what’s beyond it when he becomes a full-fledged hunter, just like D— _Bad_. George’s mind segues to someone but he does not appreciate the negativity that comes along with the name, not to mention the reason why his cheek won’t stop hurting, and he rolls his eyes and hastily stands up to clear his mind yet again.

The Children’s Quarters is dead quiet and George delights in the peace he finds in the soft, muted colors from the subtle light the skylight illuminates on the small heap of untouched snow in the middle of the room. He rests his arms on the wooden railings and, for once, George feels comfortable; no confusing colors, no excessive noise, it’s just him with his thoughts and it makes him appreciate what he has and the desire to look forward to what the next spring can bring to him.

At the distant footsteps he hears, George turns his head to see the familiar black jacket with red accents walking towards him, but Bad doesn’t seem to acknowledge him as he’s occupied with reading a bunch of papers. George calls him to get his attention and, sure enough, Bad notices him. “What’s a muffin like you doing here all alone?”

“Nothing much. I’m just bored.”

“Bored? That’s a first.” Bad chuckles and rearranges his messy stack of papers. “Anything happened to your day so far? Pretty sure those bandages have a story to tell.” He knowingly looks at George’s hands, then back at him.

George wants to hesitate, but knowing how news flies, it’s best to tell the whole thing since nothing can be gained from lying to Bad. In a blunt tone, he says, “I may have punched someone who deserved a knuckle sandwich.”

This remark piqued Bad’s interest. “And may I know who unluckily suffered your wrath?”

“It’s Dave.”

“Oh.” Bad’s eyes widen in disbelief. George never really relies on offense and instead gives importance to defenses during training and duels. To hear that George blew some steam out of someone who is twice his size and in skill, Bad is impressed. “May I ask why Dave deserved your serving of a knuckle sandwich?”

“He was roughing Nick up and said that he’s gonna be a hunter next spring, that he’s gonna be ‘in charge’ of us nerds!” George pounds his fists at the thought of what happened earlier in the day and feels the rage burning up in his heart again.

“Well, yeah, he’s… pretty much gonna be a hunter-in-training when he gets initiated next spring.” Bad says, matter-of-factly, “Plus, he already has a codename he wants to use when he does get initiated.”

“I’ve heard, from Will; Techno doesn’t really sound like a fitting name for him.”

“Codenames aren’t used to be stylish, it’s used to conceal your identity, and Technoblade sounds like a pretty good codename.”

George scoffs. “Technoblade isn’t a fitting codename for a pig.” The remark earns him a warning look from Bad; instead of feeling guilty and looked down upon, he starts fuming at Bad’s reaction. “You always taught me that bullying others is bad but here he is, running his mouth and constantly belittling us orphans just because he has a dad that happens to be the man who is crowned as the guild’s leader, the man with the ultimatum, the most powerful man in this group—that’s Dave’s dad—but just because his dad is the hero doesn’t mean that he’s untouchable; he’s a kid who learned the same thing about bullying with us and clearly, Bad, what he’s doing is wrong!”

Bad nods his head, agreeing with most of what George says, but having known how the system works, he solemnly replies, “I know that it sucks that the kid who happens to be the son of the most powerful man is picking on all of you, and that it seems helpless,” he resists the urge to say something bluntly to him, as to wake him up, but he composes himself again, “and I can’t exactly tell you that ‘that’s just how it is’, that you should just ‘bear with it’, and that ‘there’s nothing we can do’, because we can, but with someone as stubborn and somewhat out-of-touch like Techno, the only thing that you can do is… stand up for yourself.”

“That sucks…”

“Well, if getting lectured four times isn’t working then clearly it’s just Techno being stubborn.” He pauses. Clearly, George is thinking that they haven’t been doing any course of action. “On behalf of… the committee, sorry it took a long time to separate Techno from all of you. You won’t see much of him next spring since he and Illumina are gonna be training with us.”

The two of them stay silent and George, coming from off from his anger, rests his head on his arms, feeling slightly better that he won’t have to endure constantly thinking about who Dave is going to torment every day during training; the thought of it lifts an incredible burden, five years’ worth of anxiety, off his shoulders that George can run.

“Well, I’m gonna go and get these papers to the admins. Anything else you want to talk about later?”

“Nothing much but I do have a question.”

“I’m all ears.”

Bad has been for George ever since he could remember that Bad practically raised him and yet, for the nine years he has been living, his true name never really crossed his mind and, just then, he realizes that Bad knows everything about him yet he knows so little. George then asks, “Before you took on the name, Bad Boy Halo, what was your name?”

“Darryl. My name is Darryl.”

In the middle of the night when the moon is at its peak, mattress and floorboards silently creak while all the children in their respective rooms are asleep. However, to two particular children, the night has just begun. Nick stays wide awake under the covers of his bed, trying to wait for Vincent to give the signal under his quiet snores. In any moment, the two of them will be commencing their plan.

Not too long ago, on one of the days he didn’t stay by George’s side, he and Vincent sneaked out in broad daylight and ran around the forest looking for bugs when they encountered a strange thing in the middle of nowhere. The trees surrounding it were burned to a crisp and the earth—no, the ground in itself isn’t the dirt they know but rather something harder, like stone, and smelled of ash—it was burning. Upon inspecting it closer, they see a broken tower of obsidian and its remains bathing in the pool of lava just beside it. Nothing was out of the ordinary besides the fact that it existed, and the two of them were determined to find out its purpose.

Two knocks, then one. Two. Two. One. Nick slowly lifts his head up to see Vincent dressed in black from head to toe with an enormous book by his back. Nick was next to get off his bed and he was already dressed in his favorite white tee over his thick, long sleeved shirt. He has the flint and steel, the compass, and the clock with him to assist the two of them in their journey. Nick takes one last look over George who quietly snores in his bed before sneaking his way out to the wooden door.

The hallways at midnight are dark and, to add a tad bit of creepiness to the atmosphere, it is severely cold. The lit torches can only do so much and yet it does so little to help them. They move freely in the hallways but they keep their guards up for every sound they hear; what they’d do when they hear the sound of footsteps, they’re not entirely sure, but there will be a disturbance they’re willing to make.

The stationed hunters and squad leaders are quietly guarding by the twenty watchtowers along the perimeter of the gigantic wall. Vincent has visited the Southern Twins, the two watchtowers which guarded the direct entrance to the Children’s Quarters and the outside, and is knowledgeable of what can and cannot be seen from fifty meters off the floor. The western hallway that leads to the Second Tower of Omicron has a wall that is concealed by an uncemented layer of bricks painted with the same grayish tint as those of the stone brick walls.

“Vincent, wait, hold on.” Nick feels a drop in the air. “What if we die out there?”

“We won’t. There are torches on every tree and the farthest they go to is until the lake. No monster is gonna go and swoop up to kill us.”

“Yeah, but what about the creepers? I don’t want us to blow up.”

“Which is why, while I’m removing the bricks, I want you to cover my back.” From the inside of Vincent’s shirt, he reveals a wooden sword and slides it over to his friend. “Use that.”

“Holy hell,” exclaims Nick, he’d never seen a wooden sword sharpened to its very tip, “where’d you get this?”

“Stole it from one of Bad’s chests, he uses the diamond one anyways so I took that.”

Nick stops right in his tracks and stares at the sword in his hands. “You stole it from Bad?”

“Well, not much ‘stole it’, but like, I swapped the sword he gave me for practice with that since that one’s enchanted with Sharpness or something, I’m not too sure, but yeah.” By the time he finishes his sentence, Vincent already exposed a hole in the outermost wall. “If we’re going out, we go out prepared. Let’s go.”

Any doubt that has arisen at this point is gone and crossing the hole is entering the point of no return. As they crawled to the outside world and took their very first footsteps outside the world pass their curfew with no adult supervision, they were merely not children anymore. By the time that they brave to see the portal, they are, by their own terms, _men_.

The surrounding land is illuminated with torches in every corner, and no monster is to be seen—no zombie, nor skeleton, nor creeper, nor spider in their land—except for the white snow that falls from the sky. The air is chilly, making the two of them shiver in their place; perhaps they may have miscalculated how cold it really is at night. This does not hinder them on their mischief and only prompts them to move forward to their destination.

Nick and Vincent follow the trail of orange light that illuminates the trees that cover it from outsiders. This secluded place, while somewhat near to the base, had no torches bearing the ground, and what added to its mystery was that the very ground it stood was rumored to be the hole in the Earth. To see that a broken structure took its place baffles the two kids, much more so to Vincent, as all the rumors he spread turned out to be a fact after all.

Vincent pulls out the enormous book from his back and sat on its warm stone stairs. “So, I did my fair share of research and found out that this”—he points to the fallen pillar—“is obsidian. And do you know what this obsidian is used for, my dear friend?”

Nick extends his cold hands to the lava for warmth. “No,” he honestly responds, “what is it used for?”

Vincent enthusiastically jumps on his two, small feet to face his shivering friend and exclaims, “it’s used to go to Hell!”

Nick does not follow and Vincent is more than happy to elaborate. “Okay, you see this obsidian tower? Well, basically, if that were standing upright instead of sinking in lava,” Vincent flips through the pages of the book and reads the information aloud, “it would be ‘a gateway between the Overworld’, which is _our_ world, ‘and the Nether’, which is basically Hell if you look at the picture.”

“So, the Nether, which is Hell, is where the Sandman’s Plight and the Devil lives,” Nick recites, quoting a lecture from Bad.

“But not just the Devil and the Sandman’s Plight! Oh, no, it gets worse.” Vincent pauses for a while to sit again on top of the stone bricks near the lava and pulled Nick closer to show him the book. “They said that there are zombie-pigs, Wither skeletons, and literal flaming spawns of monstrosity that shoot fireballs at you when you go near them.” Vincent flips a page. “This white thing is the Ghast, it shoots fireballs, and it’s where they get the ingredients for the Potion of Regeneration; the other one is called a Blaze…”

Vincent went on and on regarding all the different things that could be found in the Nether both in fascination and grave disgust for it while Nick stared at vivid horror in what could possibly come out of the portal had the structure remained intact and sinking in lava. A beast that can launch you to the air, an unnamed group of humanoids that have similar characteristics to human civilization and are attracted to golden materials, creatures that bathe in scalding lava, and others. How they’ve managed to survive in the hellish and boiling temperatures of the world they live in, Nick and Vincent wouldn’t know, but they are very perplexed and vexed to hear all of it, because if they can’t even face a single skeleton armed with its arrows aimed at them, how can they face these spawns from Hell in the near future?

When the clock read three in the morning, the boys decide to end their adventure and head straight home to get at least three more hours of sleep to bargain for tomorrow’s brainstorming session of what to make of the portal in itself and other _manly_ discussions. They leave the scene feeling slightly different, slightly more fearful of their surroundings, a tad bit unhinged and not quite the same kid as they used to be. Those things that they learned were what they were fighting for and what the hunters give up their life for, and all the harsh—at least, in their standards—training that they go through from spring to fall was more than justifiable enough to persevere through.

Through the same path, through the same hall, Vincent and Nick make an effort to remove the snow from their shoes and sneak up to the second floor of the dormitories to finally rest. However, upon opening their doors, they did not expect an angered George with sticks on both hands to greet them on their return. Their adventure was fun but the stealth, not so much, and the two of them can already imagine the sounds of clanking belts and the feeling of aching bones.

George, as desperate as he is to keep his tone down, booms a warning to the boys, “You better talk now before I tell Bad that you snuck outside the walls for your nonsense escapade in the middle of the God forsaken night!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys! it's me again
> 
> really sorry for the late update, i was trying to keep up with the dream team smp and took a day off to grieve for l'manberg after they "lost". the chapter was supposed to be a tad bit longer but since i didn't want to delay an update, i decided that it would be reserved for the next chapter!
> 
> update sched is really gonna get janky after this chapter bc online school's gonna start and i'm a graduating student in need of high grades so HHHH hope you guys understand aaaaa.
> 
> are you guys enjoying the story so far? i'd really love to know how you guys find this 2-chapter story so far with no considerable turning plot points yet so pls do leave a comment 👉👈
> 
> also if u wanna be friends or see me simp then d-word, maybe follow UNlVERSACE on twt (capital i is a lowercase L) so we can be moots hhh


	3. magnolia | connection

A wide-eyed Nick gulps at the sight of his fuming friend. “George, we can explain. We did nothing wrong.” He drops the glowing wooden sword to the ground and slowly raises his hands in defeat. Nick gulps again, _we’re doomed_.

“You guys did nothing wrong, alright, you just sneaked out past the walls and to the forest.” George sneers at the two, gripping his sticks tighter. “And what is that? Is that an enchanted wooden sword?! What the hell!”

Vincent is quick to shush the loud voice. “George, please keep it down. If somebody were to walk by and see all three of us awake, we’d be in much greater trouble.” He drops what looks like a book heavier than what the youngest boy could possibly even carry and plops his shoes by their rug. “Our boots are wet and so are our clothes; let us change first.”

George rolls his eyes and groans in frustration. “I can’t believe you two. What would’ve happened if you got caught? If you were hurt?” to which the youngest boy interjects that none of the two situations happened, but George’s voice overpowers Vincent’s, “What was I supposed to say? That you guys somehow had an infected bite, or an unexplainable arrow through your hearts, or, even worse, a multitude of spider bites on you two?”

Nick, who put on his thickest pajamas on, answers back. “George, none of those things happened. We had the wooden sword with Sharpness on it.”

“Another bad decision!” cries George. “What makes you think that a wooden sword would stand any chance against a mob, much more so, since the two of you are stupid, an angered Enderman? Just because it has a Sharpness on it doesn’t guarantee you safety, and none of you even know how to use a sword, that’s not until next year for you”—he points at Nick—“and where did you even get that? We don’t have any enchanted swords lying around the training area.”

The two remain silent as George audibly heaves. None of the two dares to reply to him knowing that he’s, full on, going to absolutely bombard them with more questions they will never get to answer. However, their silence only made George m0re agitated for an answer, and ultimately, becomes distressed as to where he thinks the two could have gotten the sword.

“I swear, if the two of you stole that from Bad’s room, I’m telling him.”

Vincent looks up to George and furrows his eyebrows. “You wouldn’t.”

Instantly, George snaps and drops his sticks to the floor and lunges for the door. Nick immediately rises to his feet and drags George down, pleading not to do such a thing. Vincent, on the other hand, goes for the door and keeps it shut with his body. Nick eventually gets to pull away the older boy and forcibly pushes him to his bed.

Nick heaves heavily, and places his hands on his hips. “Look, George, we know that what we did is bad, but trust me when I say that it’ll be much worse because you’ll get blamed for us as well, and I’m pretty sure you don’t want that.”

The older boy hangs his head low, his arms on his sides and his hands grasping the thick covers of his bed. George stays still, but his anger still simmers on his throat, his thoughts shadowing over reason and begging to be let out, but he doesn’t speak. George did not let a single word out for he fears he might say something that might drive them away and so, with his knuckles turning white and his lips turning a deep shade of red, tears slide down his cheeks as he stifles his cries. Realizing this, Vincent and Nick fall silent and stood still.

George raises his head, hot tears streaming still, “Do you know how afraid I was?” he says, “I woke up in the middle of the night only to find you guys not on your beds. And I’ve waited for two hours—two _fucking_ hours—just for you guys to come back,” He sniffs, and struggles to keep his breathing steady, Vincent and Nick look at each other guiltily. “and then I see you guys come back in through a hole in the wall?”

Nick fiddles with the hem of his clothing, thinking of what to say, but nothing comes up. Excuses only make George more irritated than he already is. He cannot fathom what his friend is feeling right now, not to mention he shoved him quite roughly. With a small voice he says, “George—”

“No.” The boy quickly cuts off. “You know what I feel right now? _Betrayed_. Horribly betrayed. I’m a _friend_. I grew up with both of you by my side! Sure, I do rat you out to Bad when you misbehave but for God’s sake, you two! I’m a friend!” George sniffs and wipes his tears with his jacket. “What am I meant to do if, one day, I wake up to find none of you in bed only receive the news that you died and I don’t even get to know anything about it, huh? How do you think _I_ would feel?”

“George, look, we’re sorry. _Deeply_ sorry. We just…” Vincent’s words trail off, and he shakes his head. The mention of death brings out a feeling that he doesn’t like too much, his heart quickening at the mention of it, but then, Vincent never really saw anyone die, much less know what it meant…

“I’m going to bed,” mutters the older boy. His tears stop after letting his pain out and all he feels is sluggishness and dread. “I’m going to bed. Close the lights.” He hastily pulls his comforter and lies down, his back facing the two of them. George hears slow, creaking footsteps move across the floorboards, a quiet whoosh of wind and the eventual dimming of the moon. George stares at the bright light illuminating not only the bedroom but the still, night sky, and his tears shone under them before seeping to the dry covers of his soft pillow. With its company, George’s stifling stops and its presence lulls him to a deep sleep.

George spends most of his time scribing in the First Tower of Omicron, be it an enchantment or a curse, he continues to write in the foreign script he can’t seem to understand, with a special ink for a book. Apart from being able to help the adults in their daily escapades, George gets ten emeralds for every chapter of an enchantment and an additional five as the enchantments get more and more complex.

After finishing his third Curse of Vanishing, George sets his quill on the inkwell and sighs. He’s tired and his mood has not improved since yesterday’s argument. He woke up to empty beds yet again and a throbbing on his forehead. There was a folded paper on his table that he did not bother reading and he left it alone. George sighs; the argument bears heavily on him.

_Is it possible I overreacted?_ George questions himself. Without a doubt in his mind did he know he _is_ right, that he overreacted as such, because what was he to do in that situation? Still, his heart weighs heavy… _but what for?_

Needing a change of scenery, George stands up from his seat and tidies his desk, setting aside the dried papers by their pages and secures them with a small stone, then walks outside to the balcony where he can properly see the horizon. It’s a cloudy day and the snowing stopped just days ago. He searches for whatever it is that made the two leave but with the abundance of trees surrounding the area, it’s almost impossible to figure it out; searching in broad daylight is scary enough, what courage could Nick and Vincent mustered in the middle of the night? George sighs again, more audibly this time, and drops his head in dismay.

“Hey, George!” said a man just behind him and as George looked for who called him, he sees a diamond block head with a funny face waving at him.

“Oh, hey, Skeppy,” he greets the diamond block head. He didn’t exactly need company right now, but Skeppy’s presence doesn’t bug him.

“Looks like someone didn’t get enough sleep,” says Skeppy, “and unfortunately, it doesn’t look like it’s Bad this time.” He crooks his head near the young boy and waits for a response.

George looks back at him, his eyes gazing on the two dots that are Skeppy’s eyes, and chuckles with his head down. “It’s hard to take you seriously with that mask, Skeppy.”

“What?” Even without the change of his expression, his voice sounded down. “You mean you haven’t taken me seriously since I was initiated?”

“No, that’s not what I meant!” laughs George, “I mean, it’s hard to talk seriously with you when you have a derpy mask on.” He continues to giggle as the diamond block head crosses his arms in protest, but laughs along with him after a short while.

“Fine, I’ll take the mask off.” Skeppy pulls his sleeves back, revealing a device that is attached to his arm. With the sun directly above him, it was a tad bit harder to see where his settings were and hides his arm under his cubic head.

George furrows his brows, “Wouldn’t you get in trouble?”

“I only ever get in trouble if Bad’s around. Too bad I didn’t accompany him on last night’s shift.” He chuckles. With a click on his transparency settings, the cube disappeared to thin air, revealing the brown boy behind it.

It’s been quite a while since George saw Skeppy’s face. Was it three, four years ago since his initiation?—He’s certain that it happened, after all, Skeppy doesn’t walk around with his face plastered on his body anymore, but it feels too distant. George decides to not think too much about it.

Skeppy then asks the boy, “So, care to explain what you’ve been up to last night?” He rests his shoulders on the rails of the balcony and stares to the vast scenery before them.

“Nothing,” he says, and gulps, “I slept last night and that’s it.” Seconds after George said so, with his own opinion, that was one of the worst lies he’d ever told.

Skeppy, of course, did not buy in to it. “I saw Nick and Vincent come out of your rooms late with sunken eyes and you signed in three hours late for the log book, and you look so dead right now.” Skeppy chuckles, “What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”

George warily stares at the older boy and averts his gaze. His knuckles turn white and it feels hard for him to swallow. Tears come trickling down his cheek slowly and steady until his emotions pour out that he cries out to his senior, which brings Skeppy to a shock. Having put two and two together, but not quite all, Skeppy slings an arm to George and comforts the young man.

“Y’know, me and Bad were like that, too,” Skeppy says and he begins to reminisce, “there are many times that I’ve made him mad to the extent that I made him cry and… I do have to admit, it was… pretty much, a dick move.” He chuckles to himself and rubs his nape in shame. “Still, we made up because I know that, despite him saying that he hates me for doing this and doing that, and that he’d never talk to me again because of it, it’s because he cares for me.”

In a turn of tone, he exclaims to George, “Besides, they’re kids! They’re stupid and they don’t know anything. Most especially Vincent, okay? Both Nick and Vince? They’re _both_ stupid kids and they’re _bound_ to do stupid things. They’re _idiots_ , George.”

George wipes the snot off his nose and agrees with him. “That’s right. They’re fucking idiots!” It catches Skeppy off guard, but more so when more profanity came out. “They’re _fucking_ idiots! Making me _fucking_ worry after stressing me the _fuck_ out in the middle of the night, I hate them for it!”

Slews of colorful profanities came out of George’s lips, catching the attention of those who are inside the tower, turning their heads and seeing the frail boy complain to the older, brown man who was staring back at them in fear, his index finger in front of his bitten lips with a worried expression plastered on his face, unsure of how to make the child stop.

“—I mean, what were they even _fucking_ think—”

“Hey, uh, George?” Skeppy grabs the boy on his arms, making George stop, and he nervously chuckles, “Maybe we can, uh, _tone down_ the language department because,” he sucks in breath, “Bad’s gonna kill me for this.” George immediately snaps out of it and looks down with wide eyes in shame.

“But hey, you’re right to get mad, I don’t know what they did but it’s probably a stupid thing that kids do. You should definitely scold them because they deserve it and make them know that they shouldn’t do it again.” George looks up to meet Skeppy’s eyes and nods.

“But,”

George is confused. “But?”

“You should probably join them in their shenanigans.” George is taken aback by what Skeppy said. “Look out for them while you go with them. You should… uh… ah! Supervise! That’s the word. You should _supervise_ them.”

George looks at him with a bewildered look upon his face because surely, _surely_ , he can’t possibly allow what happened to happen again. “Skeppy, I don’t understand… You’re telling me that I should be with them while they’re breaking literal rules?”

“Well, I wouldn’t put it that way but, yeah.” George is taken aback but allows Skeppy to explain his side. “It’s not to say that you should encourage them on breaking rules, I’m only telling you that you should be there with them in case something happens. You aren’t getting any younger, George, you’re nine now, and in five years’ time, you’re gonna be on the frontlines protecting the guild from mobs, and you can’t go back to enjoying the things that you should’ve done now.”

“This winter break from classes should be a time of making memories with your friends and you’d need it. Once spring comes, there wouldn’t be any breaks that you can take and judging by the plan to raid the Woodland Mansions from up north, you’d be working double time on being a scribe. You won’t be able to spend as much time with Nick and Vince anymore.”

Skeppy puts a hand on George’s shoulder. “You should think about it, okay? Just be there for them.” With a few pats on the younger boy’s shoulder, Skeppy activates his settings and shows his diamond block head, and goes back inside.

That night, George is staring outside on his window, at war with himself and still trying to come up with excuses with his words. Skeppy, while very helpful in comforting him, made it very hard for him to make a rational decision, and while he’s rather intent on being stern with his decision to discourage his two friends from ever leaving the walls, he’s given some thought over his superior’s words.

Best case scenario, this remains unrevealed until he grows up; worst case scenario, he dies at the young age of nine, with Nick and Vince dying at the ages of six and five, respectively. It is risky and in the chances that they live, George wouldn’t be able to keep it away from Bad for too long because he knows that Bad would sense something was up immediately. Can he even defend all three of them against the mobs? He has high marks on defense but not so much in offense. George can land a critical hit or two at most, but he’d focus more on using his shield. If the two weren’t so reckless and obvious, _and if I weren’t so guilt-ridden and concerned_ , then it would be a lot easier to consider the second option.

George hears the door creak open and, when he looks behind him, he sees Nick and Vincent carrying a long object covered with a leather tunic by their hands. They look weary and low-spirited, and they hang their heads low.

“Hey George, we’re sorry.” says Vincent, all teary-eyed and choked up. “I know that what we did was bad and that we made you worry, we’re really sorry.” He proceeds to cry loudly and wipes his tears by the sleeve of his long, knit sweater.

Nick carries the object to the edge of George’s bed and unravels the white string of fabric, his headband, and reveals the wooden sword that shone in the dark. “We don’t really know whether it worked or not, I hope it does, but we made and enchanted this wooden sword for you.” Nick carefully handles the sword as to not cut himself accidentally and presents it to George. “I hope it helps you in some way.”

George takes the sword from Nick’s hands and holds it by its leather grip. He examines it and deems it too nicely well done to be made by them, which raises a question but he never brings it up. It was made of spruce and oak wood and looks professional; it even has his initial on the quillon block. George then extends a hand to Vincent to pull the younger child closer to comfort him and asks Nick, “What enchantment did you put?”

“Knockback, only on level one, though. If we maxed it out on level two then people might get suspicious,” replies Nick, “not to mention how skinny you look; there’s no way that you’d be able to knock someone back five meters away.” The comment earns a hit on his head with the flat side of the sword, followed by a chuckle from George.

“Thank you.” George flashes a dampened smile at the two and pulls Vincent closer to him, reassuring the youngest child that everything is now okay. “I’d like to apologize as well; I may have overreacted last night and went to sleep without even fixing anything. As your older brother, I should’ve been the bigger person.”

“We promise we won’t— we won’t do it again!” says Vincent through his sniffs.

“Well, you definitely shouldn’t!” interjects George. He makes a split-second decision to consider Skeppy’s input, and prefaces his words. “At least, not now.”

Nick tilts his head to the side, “What do you mean?” He throws the leather tunic behind him to his bed and sits on George’s bed. “You mean, we can go and visit outside at night?”

George replies, “No, we are _not_ going to break curfew, Nick—that is not what I meant.” He carefully places his wooden sword aside to his pillow. “What I’m saying is, you should probably do it at a time when daylight is longer, during summer and spring, so that you guys don’t encounter mobs as much because daylight is longer than when it’s winter. It’s dangerous out there and you guys know that.” George adds, “Not only that but, hell, it’s freezing out there. You could get sick easily and I don’t like that.”

“Would you join us, then, to our adventures?” asks Vincent to George. “You’re— You’re the only best friend we know that— can handle a sword.” George sees snot drooping down his nose and grabs the hem of Vincent’s collar to wipe it.

“Yeah, I will be. I don’t want you guys burdening Bad.”

“Thanks, George.” Nick gives George a cheeky smile before crashing his head to the older boy’s thigh, snuggling up to him.

George pulls the two of them in for a hug. “Just don’t cause any trouble to Bad or anyone else anymore.” After a short while, he then messes with both their hairs, pushing them away while flashing them a scrunched face. “You guys stink!” He presses his nose with his fingers sways his hand left to right. “Did you lot roll in mud or something? You guys smell horrid!”

“Oh, come on! We worked on your sword!” complains Nick, now on the floor rubbing his butt after getting shoved out of George’s bed.

“That’s not a valid excuse! Go wash up, you stinky brats!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my gooooood. i'm really sorry that it took so long bc, while i did expect 12th grade to be busy i literally was not expecting it to be That busy. i reread this book again and,,,,,, :0 the first chapter is literally about the L'manburg v DreamSMP war of the 1st season and i haven't been able to keep up with s2 but all i see is so much angst sjdjsjds also ty so much to the people who commented bc i kept rereading them for inspo hhaAHha (but seriously, ty so much for feedback)
> 
> this ch is shorter (3k) rather than the usual (4k) and i wanted this chapter to be more story based but gaaaahhh i dont wanna delay the update any longer or else it'll be a may2021 update and i Cannot abandon a fic that long or else i'll lose interest. see u guys soon on the 4th ch and sorry to keep you all waiting aaaaaa!!!


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